Ghosts of Night and Guilt
by Vasiliki
Summary: The Monk and the Healer: Chichiri and Mitsukake angst. Shounen ai tones, hetero lemony scene. The first 2 chapters are translated from Greek - the 3rd chapter, which is the conclusion, is a retelling of episode 47 and won't be translated.
1. Ghosts of Guilt

**Ghosts of Guilt **

**By Vasiliki, 2000.**

Beta reader: the most excellent Cassiopeia. Heartfelt thanks to her!

This story is dedicated to Donna Liston who insisted that she wanted to read it, so I bothered translating. =)

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Tama's mewing ripped the dark, maudlin and demanding, as a tail wrapped around the monk's calf. A gentle palm lowered on her head and tender fingers caressed the soft region behind her ears. The mewl changed into a purr, as the caress continued for time enough, until the palm went away and a spring of laughter caused her to jump up.  
"You're insatiable, no da!"  
Chichiri's eternal smiling face bent over Tama who looked at him uncertain.  
"If I continue this, you won't move from here for the rest of the night no da!"  
A disappointed whimper succeeded his words, but the fourth seishi was unmoving.  
Tama didn't move, but kept on looking at him, hurt. Suddenly, the sound of approaching steps made her rush up and run towards their source, startling Chichiri.  
"Ah, here you are!" a deep calm voice reached him through the night, before a tall man appeared inside the luminous circle of fire.  
"Thank you for keeping an eye on her, Chichiri."  
"Hi, Mitsukake-kun no da!" the smile of the mask grew. "It was nothing... you know I enjoy her company no da. I told her you'd have gotten worried, but she wouldn't leave na no da."  
The dark-haired man sat slowly close to the fire. The cat jumped on his shoulder and begun rubbing her head on his cheek. The strong hand of the sixth seishi repeated the earlier movements of Chichiri's fingers, causing a deep purr to rise from the throat of Tama.  
It was quiet and lonely at the end of the wood. The stars quivered ethereally to a moonless dark vault. Surrendered to the fire, the logs cracked and gave sparkles. Around them were heard rustlings and the light footfalls of predators dancing the struggle of survival. The brilliance of the flames that separated the two seishi painted their faces bronze and golden.  
'It's too silent', thought the monk who watched the healer as he kept up his stroking of the cat on his shoulder. After a while, he became so absorbed in the repetitive movement, that his field of vision shrunk, until only the cat, the man and the flames remained. He continued looking, feeling slowly going numb, torpid enough not to move a single inch, when suddenly, he perceived with a start that Mitsukake was also looking at him, examining.  
Their gazes met and neither turned his away. Chichiri felt the flames grow tall, and a sudden inner heat rising to his face. The pulse of his rushing blood throbbed into the veins of his temples. His entire world condensed to the coal black eyes of the healer and he felt dizzy, a moment of vertigo and danger, as if he was standing above a gapping abyss ready to fall to his loss. Time stood still. The difficulty of his breathing caused him to unconsciously take off his mask, their gazes still locked. The fire-shadows danced, nocturnal birds called and clouds covered the few distinct stars. But the monk was blind and deaf to everything around him, all his senses focused to the sorrow of two bright eyes.  
He woke from his trance upon hearing Mitsukake repeating something louder.  
"Daa?", he managed to utter.  
The other seishi sighed and asked for the third time:  
"I asked how did you get your scar?"  
Only then Chichiri realized that his mask was in his right hand. He blushed and moved to fit it in place again, but the plea in Mitsukake's voice stopped him.  
"Don't put it on! A man shouldn't be ashamed for his face."  
"I'm not ashamed…", whispered the monk, feeling still lost and in danger.  
"Then why the mask?"  
"To not scare the others no da!", but his voice echoed false even in his own ears.  
Mitsukake didn't reply but his eyes looked sad and Chichiri felt overwhelmed by a sudden shame. He lowered his head.  
"To not look at my face reflected in the others' eyes. To not let them see my sin."  
"Why don't you heal the scar?"  
"I don't deserve this freedom no da!", the monk whispered desperately, a knot on his throat.  
The stout man looked at him with compassion.  
"What torments you, Chichiri?"  
The monk wavered, but as if trapped in a spell, he replied.  
"He was my bosom friend and he betrayed me with my future wife. I would have knifed him, but the flooded river overtook me, so I killed him by letting him drown."  
Mitsukake searched him closely and suddenly he sighed, relieved.  
"No, it didn't happen like that!", he said.  
"Daa! What do you know?", cried Chichiri, leaping to his feet.  
Tears were running down his cheeks.  
"I let go of his hand! I knew he'd drown, but I couldn't keep on him. I LET GO OF HIS HAND!"  
He started trembling from anger and pain.  
Mitsukake got up and with two strides he was before him. He seized him by the arms and his look burned the monk with his heat.  
"How did you lose your eye?" he asked with intensity.  
"A log brought from the river no da…"  
"When you were trying to save him?", he almost yelled.  
"Hai no da…"  
A spasm of sadness crossed the face of Mitsukake. His kind voice tried to bring Chichiri round.  
"And how did you expect to not let his hand, Chichiri? Anyone in your position would have done the same!"  
"Everyone, but not I, no da! NOT I!"

The healer wasn't one to be easily surprised, but he had never expected for a day to come where he would have before him the monk in such a state. For a few moments he didn't know what to do, until his natural gentleness and tenderness prevailed. He hugged Chichiri in an awkward embrace, his rough palm on occasion stroking and tapping softly and soothingly the back that was shaking with sobs.  
Chichiri quickly regained enough self-control to withdraw from his friend. He hastily wiped his eyes and gathered the mask from the ground. Without looking at Mitsukake, he put it on and got his staff.  
"Gomen ne, na no da!", he said and moved to leave.  
A strong hand grabbed his shoulder.  
"You accuse yourself unjustly. I've also lived the loss and the guilt. I know what you've been through and if you ever want to talk, I'll be here."  
Chichiri spared him a quick glance, surprised. With a vague node, he brought his hand on his shoulder to free himself from Mitsukake's grip and static electricity passed between their fingers.  
The tall man let him leave with a tired sigh. He watched him disappear into the shadows, outside the circle of light provided by the fire. He guessed that Chichiri would avoid him from then on, surely ashamed for his out burst and feeling embarrassment now that he had revealed his secret.  
A questioning meow and a fluffy shape attaching itself to his legs made him bend and lift Tama in his arms.  
"His wound is too deep for me to heal!", he said. "It's beyond my abilities."  
He stroked the sensitive spot beyond behind the ears of Tama who purred satisfied, and the thought that Chichiri had been caressing her thus, with his long fingers, when he'd found them earlier, flitted through his mind. He sat on the spot where the monk had been sitting earlier and let himself gaze at the subdued flames. He replayed in his head the scenes that had just taken place and got lost in his thoughts for the rest of the night.


	2. Ghosts of Night

**Ghosts of Night **

**By Vasiliki, ****2000. **

Beta reader: Cassiopeia

This story is dedicated to Donna Liston.

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Dark, vertigo, fear, his own pulse throbbing loudly in his ears, his ragged breath shattering the unnatural silence.  
Footsteps.  
"Who's there?", he called, his voice frantic as he swirled around.  
A shape appeared, barely discernible from the surrounding dark. His eyes tried to pierce the blackness. Movement. Did the shadow approach?  
"Who are you? What do you want?"  
Panic, but why? He was always so calm and reserved. There must be magic involved here.

The silhouette appeared right in front of him. Too sudden. He took a step back.

A soft laughter like a bubbling spring made his fears disappear. His heart clutched. This sound... he had heard it before. In happier days. When the sun-rays had stroked her hair along with his healing fingers.

The silhouette bent forward, revealing a smiling face and radiant eyes.  
"You have forgotten me already, Juan?"

Perspiration broke on his brow. His heart jumped, refusing to believe.  
'I must be dreaming', he thought.

But when her warm palm touched his face, he knew this was not a dream.

* * *

Bodies entwined, heat, melting lava.  
"Shoka, Shoka!", a mantra on his lips, a prayer full of passion.  
Her kisses a soft rain on his burning skin, her white arms embracing his bare shoulders. Nails tugging on his back whenever he approached the right spots, digging in whenever he touched them making her writhe. Her skin was soft, her round breasts velvet, the rings of her hair a golden cascade.  
Just before the peak, he looked deep into her fervent eyes, his soul about to burst from happiness.  
"What did I do to deserve you back?"  
A tear escaped from under her eyelids and a sweet smile answered sadly:  
"You were never self-aware, my love... You do deserve the Sky and Earth and Heavens! I am the least of all."  
"I will love you always, always!", he made it an oath, kissing her deeply, as they dived again into their rhythm.  
She arched, sensitized by his words and her feelings. Sweat dripped from his face, the fingers of her right hand got lost in his unruly hair and her other hand grabbed his strong biceps, as she reached the peak and lived the ecstasy for the first and the last time in her life.  
"Mitsukake!" she shouted, and then she realized the mistake.

His mind didn't follow immediately, lost in the sensations of his own ascension. His eyes opened wide as the truth hit him, but he didn't have the time nor the power to cut back his body's release.  
"You're... not... Shoka!", he growled as he convulsed and then fell on her, his arms holding off his body's weight.  
Their eyes locked. She was in fear.  
"Juan, I... "  
"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse.  
A fleeting vision of blue hair and a missing eye. He drew back, his face full of pain.  
"Shoka is... dead, isn't she?" he struggled to say in spite of the strange knot in his throat.  
"Mitsukake, I..." she pleaded in tears.  
He didn't let her reaching hand touch him.  
"Don't you think you've done enough?" he whispered.

She ran, the dress grabbed in her fists, sobs sounding back to him who sat in the silent dark with his hands over his face.


End file.
